


Desolate Life

by Anonymous



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, M/M, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con References, Tolkien will have my head if he sees this..., implied!sexual assault, implied!underage prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:09:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life of a dwarf was one of desperation. On the road, exposed to the elements, in towns of Men so greedy for dwarven riches, pain so fresh and with barely enough to survive, it is a miracle they urvive at all.<br/>Ori-centric, because i love him. even if this shows som weird sort of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this is going. so far, the plan is: Nori, Dori and Ori's lives aren't very nice, non-con here and there, carries on into the adventures. pretty much Ori-centric. because i love him. yes, i know how this sounds.  
> also, do not look for anything canon. this very much ignores the book and movie ad nauseam. you... might get lost... and i fear the wrath of true fans. a lot. so, heed this warning! the lives they lead is not happy. at all.  
> please be kind. not very good at this...

Knitwear. Ori had no riches, but if there was one thing he had in spades, it was knitwear. Aule bless Dori, forever fretting and worrying about his health, nevermind that Ori now knew how to knit all sorts of wear - and possibly much better than his teacher.

But Fortune was not always so kind. For the longest time, She was harsh, unforgivings. 

The life of a Dwarf was one of desperation. When Erebor fell, when Smaug conquered the greatest of the Dwarf Kingdoms, when the Dwarf King’s love for gold grew too strong, dwarves who were once revered for their skills were now homeless, exiled, without an allegiance to their name, without a place to call home.

Ori remembered little from the great halls of Erebor. Most of the young folk, few in number as they were, hardly knew them. Rather, like all the other survivors, his brothers raised him in a caravan, constantly moving between towns and villages; washing from a small pot of water, sleeping in a small space with both his brothers and all of their possessions, learning to ride with their two ponies, enjoying simple meals of cheeses, dried meats, roasted tubers, old breads. The vast stony landscapes and harsh mountain winds were their playgrounds, Ori minded the littler ones while the adults worked away. Learning to sit still in the night, lest some predator find and take them...  
His life was a far cry from the glories past of Erebor, the feasts, the spoils of war, the entitled respect, the grandeur... Dori and Nori spoke of it all with anger and pride and sorrow, of the deeds and the heroes and the loss. A few precious ancient tomes in Khuzdul survived, in one way or another. Trinkets survived too; most sold, some reforged and commerced in the villages of Men. 

No, Ori didn’t remember much from the time before Smaug. None of the dwarflings did. And most of them being younger still than he, how could they? The older dwarves, Ori felt, were at an impass; teach them of a pride long gone and destroyed, or shelter them from everything, the outside world as well as their own? Tell tales, myths, traditions, or suffer through the painful memories and loss? As the years passed, it mattered little. The throng led by the king settled under the Blue Mountains. Their young King had found them a new home, and with regal authority declared they wouldn’t fall. They would rise again, strive, build anew. Along the journey, many of them strayed. Some decided to follow a different path, lost in their minds and needing a new start, needing to forget. Others stayed behind when the people stopped to rest near a town. Dori and his brothers had settled nigh a year when news of the Blue Mountains came to them.

By then, everyone changed. Years of nomadic life in squalor, begging, predation, hardship... trying to live honourably had taken its toll, was not in the realm of possibilities. In this town of Men, the inhabitants had gotten used to desperate skilled labour and took advantage of it. The room they lived in was breezy, bedroom and kitchen all at once. The washrooms were located down the hall, to be shared with other residents. They had sold their caravan and two ponies to get this room, in addition one of the three brothers would always be available to fix the plumbing at any time, a skill none had but all had to fake and then learn all too quickly. 

Skilled and hard worker though he was, Dori could barely feed them. Nori would be absent, first weeks, then months at a time, and return with more coin than would be given to any dwarf at this time. The first time Nori came home - for home was what this hole had become, this cold, breezy, hostile hole - Dori had waited until he was sure Ori was asleep to call Nori and his actions into question. In hushed, harsh, violent whispers Nori cursed Dori to Valhal and back, this life, this poverty, and Dori in turn expressed disdain in these activities, below their morals and the virtues of Erebor. Curse Erebor and her so-called virtues, the vice of the King brought forth our exile! Nori hissed and gesticulated, venting anger he kept under for years. Dori too let out his frustration, speaking words - How dare you?! You disappointment and shame of our House, desecrating our name and honour with your deeds! - cruel words that would hurt for years to come. Before the conversation could escalate, Ori shifted, silencing them. Dori sighed deeply, knees weak. The brothers embraced, needing comfort after all the anger.

“Please, brother, do not frown upon me. We need this, we _need_ this...”

Dori held on tight, shuddering. “I know, I... _know_ , but please, please _please_ be careful. What they would do to us... _please_...”

Exhausted, Dori blew out the candle, settled with Nori around Ori in an unsettling sleep.

Unbeknownst to either, Ori was awake. Awake, a quiet breather, and not unaware of their situation. Not for a long time

 

Long before dawn, Nori and Dori woke to their younger brother fixing their breakfast. Old beer, old bread, dry meat. A good day, if they had any meat. Nori washed, dressed, made for the bed that doubled as a chair. He sat and hummed an old, old song, from long before there was a kingdom under the mountain. Dori braided his beard, carefully, slowly, Ori his head hair and eyebrows. 

Ori remembers when they first braided his hair and beard. He was ecstatic; homeless, with nothing but the clothes on their backs, there was little they could bring with them but what was in their mind and actions. Often, Men would ask, “Why so traditional? Won’t you loosen your braids and constrictions?” They couldn’t understand. They had nothing else left than this titbit of tradition that binds them to a desolate home. When Ori had his first beard, when he had his first braids, it was the first time he could share his brothers’ grief.

Ready for his next quest, Nori left in the quiet of the early morning. Dori would still work hard, forging, fixing, welding, cooking, knitting. Ori... his brothers working day and night, Ori was left to his own devices. He turned to the local libraries. They were small, predominantly owned by the mairie and the temple, the coin he earned little. And Nori... 

Nori would do what he does, in the protection of the night, alongside creatures of dubious but lucrative business. Nori clutched his mace; he would do what they needed to eat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dori and Nori decide to leave the town, with the help of Oin, Gloin and others. Ori suffers in silnce, in ways no one could fathom.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dark. I mean, dark. implied!sexual assault, implied!prostitution. Not graphic.
> 
> a note to this note: just because one is not *penetrated* does not mean it isn't rape. 
> 
> and apologies for the missing "e"s. my keyboard is wonky, and i tried to get them all.

Three decades they lived in this town of Men before packing up and leaving for the Blue Mountains. Ori remembered it well; he was curled up in the corner of their wagon. Dori sat at the front, holding the reins. Nori sat beside him, hands shaking.

Dori forged and worked well with his peers by then. Nori was absent, now years at a time. Ori worked happily in the libraries, his sweet demeanor well-received. It was difficult to remain in the Men’s good graces, most of the dwarves had left this town for other places.

In his own defense, Nori was gone for years at a time. This excuse got weaker and weaker every time he said it. If he was there, _if I were home more often_... but he wasn’t. No, there as no regret on his part regarding his choices. “Legal” was, after all, completely relative to the geographical location of a place and, of course, the individual. And his guilt was not sudden; it did not appear without a moment’s notice, like lightning. It did not appear violently and expectedly, like a fist in the face at a tavern. The guilt grew like a weed, taking seed in his mind when he received a letter from Dori, in full bloom by the time he is sat next to his youngest brother, in that wagon, on that day.

When the letter came, Nori was drinking his fill with some fellow dwarves. Their most recent employ was most fruitful, his share generous; Nori ought to drink his own weight in mead, before bringing his share home, if he didn’t want Dori to die of heart failure wondering what he did do get it. Nori did not know what to think, Dori rarely ever sent a letter, oh no, he sent veritable _encyclopedic diaries_ about everything and anything, between gossip and introducing Ori to new foods _Durin’s balls, this is a strawberry, strawberries aren’t green, they’re red, just one mouthful! It won’t hurt you_ , and odd allergies _Ori’s allergic to spinach now. SPINACH. I’m not sure if he faked throat swelling, but I wouldn’t put it passed him, bless his heart_. In recent years, Ori also wrote some small bits himself. Nori wasn’t on to brag - too often - but the lad’s penmanship was exquisite. Only, his pen was absent in the minimal wax-sealed page. The contents of the message drove an ice-cold dagger into his spine. If what he read was true - and no matter how much he wished Dori had made a jest, no dwarf could possibly jest about this, not after what happened during their wanderings following their King, not ever - then Nori had no time to waste.

And he would need help. So help he sought; he looked up to one of his mates. A short nod to the door, he waited until they were both outside before showing him the letter. The other dwarf tightened, lips and brows and fingers on the sheet.

"Don't worry, laddie. Ye're not alone in this. Lemme call the cavalry."

Nori gave a tight nod.

Nori rode his pony hard; if he hurried, it was but a three days’ ride. _He should never have set foot in those blasted libraries!_

 

They arrived on the second day at nightfall. The details of the night would be burned into his brain with deadly precision.

Nori landed on the muddy ground. Several thuds followed his own.

He marched up towards the library, up the stairs, not needed to turn around to know they were following him. Ori’s workplace, where he hoped to strike unexpected vengeance.

They reached the centre of the libraries, where they found Dori at arms.  
Ori, crouching behind him.

Ori, hands full of blood.

Ori, shaking, not responding to anyone.

Ori, and a few other little creatures; human children, if their size and the shape of their face was anything to go by.

Someone shook Nori’s shoulder; it was Oin’s brother, Gloin. Gloin pointed, he saw an armed group standing at the door.

With their aid, they lead the group of young frightened beings into the home of one of the children’s parents, where they washed and clothed and tenderly laid on bedcloths.

Nori exited the ragged building, found a wagon filled with supplies, and only their most important possessions.

Next to the wagon, Dori - furious, cold Dori - Oin and Gloin, and two other of his fellow masters of crime; Falin and Palw; a group of Men, armed with swords and maces and a deep-seated, unbearable betrayal. All of them with a vested interest in seeing those responsible dead.

Before the morning broke, their faithful weapons had seen blood.

Falin and Palw took care of the corpses; but this was close. Too close. They would not be able to contact Nori for any future plans just yet, not for a long time, having committed too much too fast, too soon apart.

The humans emptied what they left in their flat, burned them, gotten rid of any indication of their residence. They showed their gratitude in many forms. They gathered a wagon, tattered and meagre as not to garner attention, several ponies, food, water. More importantly, they promised silence; silence about their names, their appearance, the circumstances. They were ignorant, as far as any of their greedy leaders were aware, the reasons and actions and absence of the perpetrators.

As far as anyone was concerned, there never dwarves in this town. Three grown men - or a dozen? Between five and fifteen, definitely - who had all red hair - no, they were bald! No, they all had patchy hair! - who were built like oxen - No, they had missing limbs and half a brain to spare betwixt them.

If there ever were questions about seperated skulls, missing genetalia, missing strips of skin, they were not heeded.

But it wasn’t enough. Nori leaned closer to Ori, who reciprocated the gesture. Dori, stare ahead at the horizon. A few hours on the road, the call of nature had to be answered. Ori stepped out into the sun, head down, arms around his middle. Gloin, with fatherly concern, coaxes Ori’s hands out from hiding, and Oin went to work on his injuries.

Neither Dori nor Nori knew exactly what happened. And though they dared not venture into possibilities, their imaginations wouldn’t let them rest; the long slices across Ori’s palm were thin and long and raw.

Dori suspected that something was off when Ori came home later that usual. When Dori saw that Ori hid a bruise beneath his scarf, he grew suspicious and sent for his brother; after the incidents in their early journeys, he could not be too careful.

There was no guarantee the message would reach Nori in time; he could be anywhere. Dori was getting restless as the days went by. H was even approached by one of the Men, who, in hushed tones, demanded that he stop asking questions. Other townsfolk whispered to him, much to his own surprise, that they would follow his lead, when he made his move. He looked over to Ori, who just went on writing down their accounts without looking up.

Missives have sighted Nori less than an hour from the town. Dori then follwed Ori to his workplace. He found him his back to a wall, bloody hands clutching tattered longjohns; he was stood next to four other boys, younger perhaps, taller. Standing opposite them were Men, wealthy, drunk, hideaous Men. Dori must have made a sound, because the men turned around - and curse them all, he knew them _he knew their names and their faces_ \- and ran. They ran for the windows and escaped. Dori let out a howl, raised his weapons, when he heard Nori behind him.

 

No, the punishment they dealt was not enough. Their brother was silent about his pain. Other than the slices on his palm, there was no telling what he went through, and none of the dwarves knew how to handle this pain.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the doors of Ered Luin, Fili and Kili sneak out to see what business Mister Dwalin, with uncharacteristical silence, had to meet.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finding out more about their lives on the road. Why did Kili take up the bow?  
> I understood that in the book, Fili and Kili are younger than Ori. Which is useful, because I was stuck. Also, I liked to think that they had a crush on Ori, which I might want to keep. I like Fili+Kili<3ingOri.  
> yeah... my writing needs work. i keep forgetting the capitals, and my keyboard doesn't seem to like vowels. at all.  
> thanks for the kudos and the comments, and for clicking on this at all, really. i can only imagine how many people want to throw rocks at my face. which i will duck.  
> next chapter: dwarvish healing, hugs, cuddles. and i don't care if it conflicts with the rest of the story, i need Ori!hugs. lots of them.

The bow was a perfectly respectable weapon. Not typically dwarfish, as it was, and most certainly not an elven legacy from the First Age, as those fond of _conspiracies_ would dare assume. Every army with an ounce of strategy possessed projectile weaponry. The mutual disike between races did stop elves from using the sword, nor the dwarves from the bow.

Strategy was not, however, Kili's reason for choosing the bow.

Walking from the ruins of Dale to the Blue Mountains was a harsh memory to have, especially considering they were part of their earliest, his and Fili's. Constant movement, always cold in the night, days of monotone marching. Ever so often, when they were near a town - or, as was more common a situation, down to their last rations - they would look for a secluded place to hide the wagons and ponies. The children were left behind; dwarven children were rare, the tragedy of Erebor struck their folk deeply, but nothing was quite as bad as what happened when the children accompanied the adults into town whilst they searched for work.

Unspeakable things happened; many disappeared without a trace, some found days later , or not at all. The bodies were in a terible state, bearing gut-wrenching marks of assault, sometimes missing limbs, sometimes unrecognisable. Other times it was the parent, desperate and cruel, who sold their child into the unmentionable trade. When the parents in question failed to reappear, no one questioned it. When the children asked for the missing friends, no one could bear the thought of telling them of the cruelty, so they kept silent. The children, however, were not so innocent of the world that they could not infer themselves. So when Fili suggested to the frightened and cautious that hiding in the secluded rocks of the mountains while waiting was a better gamble than following them into the towns of Men, the King gave in. It was not an easy decision to make. Few others agreed, only letting go when they could compromise leaving a hand-full behind to watch over the children. When some of the children grew older, the elders grew confident enough to leave them to their own devices. When the adults left to find work, and they were left in the care of older children, climbing trees for apples, pears, various other fruits was one of the few things they could do, both to feed and amuse themselves. Apple trees were plants of high altitube, who knew. And though there were fewer than three dozen children in the totality of this throng, they did not all know each other, speak to each other, stay in the same hiding place even.

Ori would seem like the most unlikely of caretakers, shy and easy to bully and far too sweet to do anyone any harm, but he was the best in keeping hidden and following directions. Besides, the King entrusted his sister-sons to him, and the two young dwarves remembered him fondly. It was highly possible that one or the other princelings loved the dwarf just a little.

It was the small things. When Fili and Kili wanted sweet fruit, he would climb the trees for them and pick the sweetest ones by scent. When their hair grew too long, Ori fashioned a makeshift clip for each and bound their hair. When Thorin and Dis were away, absent for Fili's first crowning; had the been in the royal halls, there would have been ceremony and music and Thorin would have given Fili his first braid, a sign of royalty. Rather, Ori took Kili, sat him next to his brother and proceeded to fiddle a loose braid underneath his ear, and proceeded to read them stories of old, from the tattered Khuzdul tome his brothers gave him. When all the sweet apples within arm's reach were gone, Kili and Fili would run under the tree, catching all the apples Ori shot down with his slingshot. When the scholars insisted they learn Khuzdul - both modern and ancient - and failed miserably, Ori was put to task in teaching them both, which he did - by swearing extensively. Until the bitter end, no one was sure whether it was a good thing - the boys knew their language - or a bad thing - they swore, a lot, and grammatically correctly at that.

So when Dori and Nori stopped at a town of Men, and took Ori with them, Fili and Kili might have been more than a little heartbroken. They both kept their hair up, forged their individual clips into a stronger hold, swore in Khuzdul more than anyon could toelrate and Kili chose to learn how to use a bow.

 _"A slingshot is not a weapon of war. If you insist on learning something with an aim, throwing knives or a bow will work just as well."_ Mister Dwalin frowned, hesitant at first to let the young royal blood take up such arms; Kili however showed incredible marksmanship, well enough to rival any elf, much to his pride.

A missive came to him by Balin, who bore a grave look in his eyes. His cousins Oin and Gloin were coming to visit. They were bringing with them dwarves who wished to settle in the Blue Mountains. Dwalin suspected there was more to the vague message, possible circumstances that were not nearly as simple as the words suggested.

That was not true for Fili and Kili, who heard Mister Dwalin reading out the letter from their hiding spot behind the curtains, not seeing the anger in Balin’s eyes, nor the caution in their mentor’s gestures. All they knew were their cousins were coming, with new dwarves.

They followed Dwalin to one of the lesser used entrances to the city as quietly as they could. How odd this was, usually Oin insisted on being welcomed with the loudest noises possible, always _“forgo’ ma ear-trumpet, ah can’t here ye!”_ , with drinks and trinket and food flung from all sides. Instead, Oin bore a dour look on his face, muttering along with the dark-haired dwarf and his brother, gesturing to the ragged wagon behind him. The tatooed weapons master abruptly headed towards it and yanked the cloth open, to be hit in the face by a three-pronged head of hair. Caught by surprise, Dwalin staggered back, narrowly missing the mace headed for his unprotected side. Kili absorbed the sight with gusto, it wasn’t often that Master Nori would demonstrate his skill with his weapon of choice.

Kili’s attention was startled when Fili nudged him, tilting his head towards two other dwarves, following Master Nori. The first - Master Dori! - spoke silent words, and Nori halted, whilst the second figure - Ori? What? - with downcast eyes, took lifeless steps until Dori held his elbow, lest he tripped.

Neither princeling could believe their eyes. Ori? Sweet, careful Ori, who thought they didn’t know how he forged their hairclips while not being any good, but tried; who sang for them, who cared for them when neither their Uncle nor their Mother could spare the time, who would rub Kili’s face in the mud when he complained too much about his lack of facial hair, and Fili’s in turn when he bragged too much about his own. Ori, who was polite when Dwarves ought to be brash, who was well-read instead of burnt at the fingers, who hoarded parchments, quills and inks like another Dwarf would his gold. Whose fondness for pipe weed was quite frankly a little worrying.

Whose face stayed cast downwards, listlessly following the older dwarves into the fortress.

Worried, they followed the group into the healing chambers. Determined, they insisted on staying, on hearing, offering any aid they could. They eyes of their elders weighed upon their souls, conveying a horror unnatural and cruel. Fili looked at the dim figure lying on the cot, then at his brother. They were young; recently out of their childhood, but not so recent that they were thoughtless youths.

Thorin entered, long fur coat dragging behind him, solemn and grave.

Trembling, neither princeling could believe their ears, nor their eyes still, when Gloin rested his bloodied axe before them, and told the gruesome tale.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili goes into Ori's room, and makes his own effort to help him.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah... what i said about cuddleses? should appear in the next chapter.  
> the following events were always in my head, but i didn't know where to put them. so.  
> thumbs up for Dis the Badass mam?

Dwarves were not solitary creatures. Some would say they weren’t creatures of comfort either, but there are those who preferred greens and wines, and those who preferred meats and meads, so really, comfort was relative. Describing dwarves as “not solitary” too, since “not being alone” could mean anything between “sitting next to another person, two feet away”, to “living in each other’s hair, quite literally”. Dwarves, of course, didn’t _live_ in each other’s hair, no matter what conclusions one might make looking at their beards. But Dwarves could fade, in spirit, when away from their kin too long, which was why one dwarf is rarely seen alone; and when one sees a solitary dwarf, one can always be sure that another was always not far behind.

Such social creatures they were, that certain ailments were cured with the presence of another alone. A poorly dwarfling needs only the comfort of his kin - mother, father, if possible siblings - for a day and a night to heal. It was not unheard of that great wounds of the mind could be helped; as a matter of fact, Bifur the brave toymaker was saved from insanity by his brothers, who would not leave his side. Half an axe still lodged in his nervous system and speaking a rather old form of Khuzdul with a fairly dense accent, the warmth of his soul still lived in his toys.

It was why Nori and Dori returned to their kin in Ered Luin; because although Nori was notorious and Dwalin had arrested him more often than Nori had braids, this was as close to ‘Home’ as they could get, and Ori needed healing.

First, Oin tended to his wounds. Bandaged his hands, sewed shut the bigger ones, slathered him in soothing ointments until he was practically dripping in them. He then prescribed a strict regime to Dori and Nori, and Fili and Kili upon their insistence. Dwarven medicine was simple in cases of the mind, because dwarven minds were simple. And simple did not mean inferior, weak, without competence or stupid; rather, it meant dwarves were, at their core, social creatures, and social contact was often the most efficient balm.

Efficient, but not swift, for Ori remained unresponsive to their words and caresses. When it was time for Dori and Nori to travel, he still hadn’t responded to outward stimulation, and he remained unchanged when they came back, not for lack of trying on Fili’s part.

One night, Kili snuck into Ori’s room, whre he found him staring at a lit candle.

“Hullo there, Ori!”, he said quietly. Ori just blinked, and Kili moved to take a seat on his bed, almost touching the other dwarf.

“Our brothers are a right wreck out there”, he added with an awkward grin “worryin’ and putterin’ about. Nori nearly got arrested, Mister Dwalin had to bail ‘im out! Dori’s still botherin’ Mister Balin about rare and mystic herbs and weeds, to make teas with for you, and Mister Balin’s still remindin’ ‘im about when you drank one made from them things from out West, near them Hobbitfolk, when you couldn't stop laughing!”

Ori’s fingers twitched from the breeze that seeped through the window. Kili stood to close it. It was a busy few weeks; friends came to visit in small numbers, for eample Bifur dropped by, telling beautiful faeries tales and raunchy jokes in his thickly accented antiquated Khuzdul. Master Oin came to put some balsam on Thorin's burns from the forge, somehow mixing up the healthy green paste for his highly hallucinogenic - for personal use only - "meditation cream". Kili tried to eat as many apples at once - almost dislocating his jaw - and Fili launched himself and his brother into a "battle of honour".

“Fili out there is still dripping mud from his ears. He’ll never learn to challenge me in a mud fight, there’s a reason why he’s not allowed near a bow! No aim, that dwarf!”

Kili turned, eyes frank and serious. he pulled a chair and sat in front of the older dwarf, hands fidgeting and eyes on the floor. He swallowed. thickly, almost choking. He croaked.

“You know... none of them here think I remember anything from back then. During the wandering. But I do. More than they do, probably, more than you even. When we were in the villages of Men, when Mam and Uncle Thorin and Mister Dwalin still took us with them and we would run around and look at human toys and --” Kili shifted. “And some of them Menfolk wre too keen. I remember everything, you know. how they stared, what they said... “Dwarflings staying children much longer, much more to enjoy” that, that-that was real off, you know? It makes me sick even more now, since I know what they mean...” He swallowed, leaned forward to rest his head in his hands. “And I remember how, when the sun set, and I was scared, they wouldn’t stop laughing... chucking things at me, food, water, and sitting there and being scared, so scared and crying...”

Kili’s breath shuddered. He was startled by a soft hand in his hair.

“It hurts, you know, even when I remember how Mam dented the man’s face with Mister Dwalin’s hammer, how happy and safe I was when she carried me home, with mister Dwalin and Uncle Thorin around too. It hurts to know that Mam and Uncle were worried sick, that Fili wouldn’t eat, that you snuck out to find me and fetch them. It hurts to know that they know everything, where I was, what they did to me, how weak and scared I was. It hurt then and it hurt now and it doesn’t go away but - “ Kili was breathing harshly, having grabbed and not planning on letting go the knitwear between his fingers “But it dosen’t _stay_. not if you don’t let it, so please don’t let it because we’re here and if you do, you will _fade_ and you’re not alone so please, please don’t go...”

Kili was shaking, so was the hand in his hair. Ori was crying, blinking rapidlybreathing unevenly. Kili crawled up and pushed them both down, so that they lay in their arms, suffering together.

 

Outside, Fili squeezed his eyes shut, resting his forehead to his knee, hugging it tight to his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> update: 21.01.2013
> 
> Ori begins healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it. it's short, but it's something. i couldn't do it, i couldn't make ori suffer any longer. so, sillies all around, and by god, i do love any woman related to thorin, cos' all she can be is badass.

Fili wasn’t alone in the hallway; his Uncle followed him when they saw Kili sneak upstairs. Ori’s brothers mimicked their action, only stopping short from barging in when Kili started a falsely light tone.

If the next day, in each of their own workplaces, people remarked on their throbbing faces and swollen hands and bleeding everything, none of them could come up with neither excuse nor explanation.

The road home was a silent one. Nori just followed Dori, as he did when he was little, to his rounds around the markets. Much to their luck, the stocks of Hobbitweed were full, as were those of orange-coloured tart fruit, Ori’s favourite. It seemed like a lot of what they did to cheer Ori up was, in hindsight, for their own peace of mind. It was a heartbreaking guilt, to realise this. Even with the progress they were making.

After Kili’s wretched confession, Ori opened up, little by little.

With Bifur, who decided to only speak an antiquated, thickly accented Khuzdul dialect that no one else remembered, and his cousin Bofur, who clutched his sides with roaring laughter at the raunchy stories coming out of their conversation, much to Dori’s horror and Nori’s amusement.

With Oin, who treated his injuries and helped him regain flexibility in his hands and fingers. Balin, who helped strengthen his fingers with copying down stories from tattered old tomes.

Bombur, who had children of his own, feeding him treats and telling him horror stories about “green food”. Again, to Dori’s dismay and Nori’s endless entertainment.

With Thorin and Dwalin, who still remembered how the little ginger bundle ran to him with wild gestures about Kili being kidnapped, teaching him how to handle sword and hammer. Dwalin had a hard time convincing him to pick up a hammer, charging towards Thorin with a fierce cry to prove its valour. Thorin joined Nori in a belly laugh when Ori slung rocks against Dwalin’s unprotected shins with his slingshot, causing the large warrior to drop his hammer on his foot, hopping to avoid the sharp shards of rock. In the end, it was Dis who was most convincing, wielding axe and hammer like they weighed less than a hamster. Although, it was possibly less how she wielded the weapons, more how her beautifully braided beard flowed in the wind, while she knocked the wind out of brother and friend.

With Fili, who learned how to knit from Dori for the sole purpose of making mittens, so that Ori’s bandages didn’t spark curious looks from passers-by; who pulled faces behind Balin during his lessons, to have his sparse beard pulled by Balin for spilling ink with his gestures; who taught Ori how to inhale properly in order to let out an echoing burp; who preened about finally being taller than Ori, and stuttered furiously when the older swarf pointed at his bare chin, bringing up the sore subject of still not having grown stubble.

With Kili; who joined in throwing rocks at Dwalin by hand, sneezing every three minutes while Balin piled book upon book in front of Ori, getting his jaw locked wide open trying to impress Ori with how many apples he could eat at once. Who, when Ori receded into his nightmares, would sit with him and understand, like no one else could.

It was months, though, before Ori was healed enough to find the strength to speak. But when he did, he finished copying down the long chronicles before him, fingers drenched in ink and without a hint of hesitation, looked up at Balin lecturing the princelings.

“Excuse me? I’m sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with the scrolls?”

“Here you go, Ori, give it to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> archive? yes, please, if you want to. just give me a heads up, yeah? ;)


End file.
